Mark Anthony - Tower of Doom

An hour later Caidin's tour of the village was done. As he made his way back to the gilded carriage, he noticed numerous mute, terrified faces peering at him from dim windows and doorways. It appeared he had accomplished what he had come here for.

"Pock, assist me!" he barked, pointing to a deep mud puddle before the carriage's steps.

"Yes, Your Grace!" The gnome scurried forward and bent down to spread his crimson cloak gallantly over the puddle.

Ignoring the proffered cloak, Caidin gave Pock a rough push. Arms flailing wildly, the gnome plunged face-first into the foul-smelling muck. Using Pock's back as a stepping stone, the baron climbed with great dignity into the carriage. The driver cracked his whip above the ears of the horses, and the carriage lurched into motion. Pock sprang onto the craft's running board, clutching the door's handle to keep from falling and being crushed under the spinning wheels. He managed to boost himself up and inside. They were nearly to the edge of the village when Caidin banged a the roof of the carriage, signaling the driver to halt.

"Pock, who is that?" Caidin whispered intently, leaning to peer out the window of the carriage. A woman clad in a plain black dress walked down the street carrying a leather satchel. Even from a distance, the rare violet hue of her eyes was visible.

"Her name is Mika," Pock informed his master. "She arrived in the village some days ago. Folk say that she's a doctor."

"Is that so?" Caidin mused, a hungry expression on his face. "She is quite beautiful, this doctor."

Pock shrugged, apparently unimpressed. "I suppose so, if you like high cheekbones, full lips, and perfect skin."

Caidin shot him a black look.

"Er, which I'm assuming you do," the gnome added hastily.

As the two watched, the golden-haired woman disappeared through the doorway of the Black Boar. Caidin knocked again on the ceiling, and the carriage rocked once more into motion.

"Perhaps I should invite the good doctor up to the keep for dinner tonight, Pock." Caidin's eyes glittered speculatively. "I really should give her a formal… welcome to my barony. After all, I wouldn't want her to think I have been neglecting my duties as a good neighbor."

The gnome let out a round of bubbling laughter. " 'Good neighbor?' That's a rich one, Your Grace!"

Caidin glowered dangerously. "I wasn't joking, you maggot." Pock hastily shed his grin. "Er, I knew that."

Clad in an elaborate gown of lavender silk, Mika. stepped into the Grand Hall of Nartok Keep. Everywhere she looked there was light, refracted by the myriad crystals of a dozen chandeliers. It shimmered off silver plates and spun glass goblets and gilded wood. The people who filled the room were, even more brilliant than the furnishings. Silk and velvet of a hundred different shades glowed richly. Jewels glittered against bare throats, ears, and fingers. Ornamental swords and daggers gleamed as if they had been polished with diamonds.

"It's beautiful," she whispered softly.

"Do you truly think so?" a man's voice asked behind her.

She whirled in surprise, silk rustling, to find an unusually handsome man standing behind her. He was regally clad in a blue coat with silver buttons, gray breeches, and boots as black as his hair and neatly trimmed beard. Realizing this must be Baron Caidin, Mika hastily attempted a curtsey.

"Good evening, Your Grace," she murmured.

"My lady." His voice was rich and deep. "I am so glad you could come." He took Mika's hand, kissing A gentfy. The warmth of his lips against her skin sent a shiver up her spine. She snatched her hand back. It felt as if all eyes were on her.

"Pay no attention to them, my lady." The baron, gestured subtly toward the nobles of his court who milled around the vast hall, casting surreptitious looks in Mika's direction. "I'm afraid that all of them find you utterly mysterious and fascinating."

"Oh?" There was a faint quaver in her voice. "I find that hard to imagine, Your Grace."

"It is your skill as a doctor, my lady. You see, they aren't accustomed to ladies-т-ог gentlemen, for that matter-who make their way through the world by doing something useful. Being nobles, they aren't required to be of much use."

Mika found herself laughing. Perhaps this wouldn't be as difficult as she feared. Still, she could not imagine why the baron had thought to invite her to his keep. Perhaps it was simply that nobles took sick like everyone else, and thus he wished to make her acquaintance.

"If they think me interesting, then I'm certain they'll be sorely disappointed, Your Grace," she said ironically. "I'm afraid I'm one of the very dullest of people." Suddenly she remembered her manners. "I must thank you for the gown, Your Grace. It is… er… quite lovely."

In vain, she attempted to smooth down the silk gown, but the wide hoops beneath the skirt only sprang back, puffing the dress out to absurd dimensions. Mika had the distinct notion thatsfie looked like an overstuffed chair. But the gown had come to the inn along with the baron's surprising invitation. It would have been an insult not to wear it for the occasion.

His eyes glittered. "It suits you well, my lady."

Her cheeks flushed, and for this she scolded herself silently. It was an idle compliment, Mika, and nothing morel "Thank you, Your Grace," she said aloud. "You know, you have a beautiful voice. It makes me think of horns."

His smile revealed uncommonly white teeth. "How nice of you to say so."

The courtiers were edging toward the long table that dominated the center of the hall. It was time for the feast to begin. The baron guided Mika to a place halfway down the table. Nodding his leave, he moved to take a seat at the head.

Mika felt distinctly out of place among the ranks of viscounts, duchesses, and other nobles. Before her was a dizzying array of gold forks, silver bowls of scented water, and curious utensils whose purpose she couldn't begin to fathom. Unsure what behavior court etiquette dictated, she surreptitiously observed the nobles around her, attempting to mimic their actions. More than a few disapproving frowns and mocking glances indicated she was less than successful.

A silver pitcher poured wine into the crystal goblet before her. She turned to thank the servant, then gaped in astonishment. No one was holding the pitcher. It hovered in midair above her glass, red wine streaming from its spout. The liquid filled the glass to the brim, then overflowed onto the table.

A nearby nobleman in a rancid-smelling wig glared at her. "You're supposed to tell it when," he said curtly as if she were a simpleton.

"When!" Mika said hastily.

Immediately‹fhe silver pitcher stopped pouring and floated to the next empty glass. None of the courtiers paid any attention. Apparently flying pitchers are commonplace here, Mika thought wryly. She allowed herself a nervous laugh as she sopped up spilled wine with her napkin.^.

"Would you be so kind as to pass the saltcellar?" a plump woman to her left asked.

Mika reached for an ivory saltcellar carved in the shape of a spider. It scurried nimbly beyond her grasp. She bit her tongue to keep from crying out in alarm. Given the flying pitcher, no doubt a walking saltcellar was to be expected. The ivory spider scuttled behind a bowl of plums. Forming a strategy, Mika picked up a fork in her left hand and carefully prodded behind the bowl. The ivory spider dashed from its hiding place, and she'deftly snatched it up in her right hand. She passed the wriggling saltcellar to the waiting woman.

"Thank you, my dear."

"You're welcome," Mika said with a forced smile.

At the foot of the table, two servants set down a ponderous serving dish. They lifted the silver lid, and the woman to Mika's left clapped her plump hands.